


take a screenshot, it'll last longer

by h_lovely



Series: Commissions [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Lingerie, M/M, unapologetic use of snapchat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 20:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14120091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_lovely/pseuds/h_lovely
Summary: It’s all fun and games until someone pops a boner in a staff meeting.





	take a screenshot, it'll last longer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cheesyshenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheesyshenanigans/gifts).



> This is a commission for my matsuhana loving friend [Cheesy.](https://cheesyshenanigans.tumblr.com/) (Please check out their art, it's fab.) Thank you for providing me with this idea, it was a JOY to write <3

Working in the same office building as your significant other can be tricky. There’s the no PDA rule at work. Schedules that should, but most of the time don’t actually match up. Water cooler gossip and sometimes even HR to contend with.

But, of course, it can also have its perks too.

“Are you sick or something?” Oikawa inquires, eyes genuinely wide with concern. “How many times does one person have to excuse themselves to the bathroom in a day before it’s considered ‘stealing company time?’”

Hanamaki, for what it’s worth, knows that Oikawa won’t rat on him, but the question is still a valid one. However, at the moment he’s currently very preoccupied and instead of answering continues to draw little hearts on his phone screen with his pinky, grinning a bit maniacally.

Somewhere three floors below them Matsukawa is in for a pleasant surprise (read: heart attack).

So far this morning Hanamaki’s snaps have been tasteful. A cheesy pickup line here or there, an obnoxious number of puppy-filtered selfies, even a cliché bathroom mirror pic showcasing the jewel-blue suit he usually reserves for very important sales meetings. But now, he’s ready to _escalate_.

Hanamaki grins something broad and devilish, lips pulling as his thumb hovers over the send button. For a boring Tuesday, it’s going to be quite a fun day at work, he thinks.

“What’s going on?” Oikawa has moved himself closer now, hovering at the front of his desk and sporting a highly unnecessary pout. “Are you talking about me? You’re not texting Iwa-chan, are you?”

His words have Hanamaki flinching, message sending in the blink of a slipped finger. Just the thought has Hanamaki nearly choking, flicking his eyes up to glare at Oikawa accusingly. These pictures were meant for one person, and one person _alone_. “What? No way—not everything is about _you_ , Tooru.” 

“Hm? Then what are you up to?” Oikawa blinks, curiosity slowly turning into something knowing. “You look too happy for nine-thirty on a weekday during crunch.”

It’s not as though Hanamaki hates his job. In fact, he enjoys it, especially considering the people he’s met since working here. But it’s a pretty well-known fact that Hanamaki is not a morning person. Despite that, he smirks over the edge of his phone at his nosy friend. “None of your business, actually.”

He imagines the sent snap again in his mind, the hint of teal lace peeking out from where he’d unbuttoned his dress shirt, just low enough to show off his collarbones and the delicate straps clinging to his shoulders. He’d been in the bathroom down the hall for nearly ten minutes in order to get it _just_ right.

Hanamaki’s tongue dips out to wet his lower lip, locking his phone and turning his attention back to Oikawa. “Speaking of crunch, you and Iwaizumi doing anything to celebrate the end of the quarter?”

It’s common knowledge around the office that Oikawa and Iwaizumi are a thing, even if it’s not been made official by paperwork, but still Oikawa manages a blush and gives an entirely too-innocent look. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he says. “Drinks maybe. You and Mattsun can come too, the more the merrier!”

There’s a distinct tone in Oikawa’s voice, a bit too high-pitched, that tells Hanamaki the invitation is definitely a false one offered out of fluster. He shakes his head automatically, not offended, and even if he were Hanamaki’s got _other_ plans in mind for today.

He shifts in his chair, slacks rubbing against the thin, barely-there fabric clinging to his lower half. “Thanks, but we’re staying in tonight,” Hanamaki replies around a wry smile.

It’s not as though Oikawa can know what he’s thinking, or what kinds of naughty things he’s been sending to Matsukawa for the past hour, but still there’s a glint in his round eyes that reminds Hanamaki just how good Oikawa is at reading between the lines. 

* * *

At first, when Hanamaki had started his message spree, Matsukawa had been responding. Not to every text or snap, but often enough that Hanamaki would have to hide a snort at the man in a pink and yellow flower-crown or the unfocused image of Matsukawa’s desk riddled with papers and a few choice words in regard to Hanamaki’s apparent shenanigans.

But the one thing Matsukawa had yet to do was save any of the images Hanamaki was so painstakingly crafting for him.

Until now.

Hanamaki stares at his lock screen where the notification banner blinks up at him, almost accusingly.

_matsukawa_issei took a screenshot!_

He bites his lip, half trying to fight back a grin or a blush, he’s not quite sure yet. His latest pic hadn’t been all that showy (just a hint of a soft bralette) Hanamaki will admit. But still, the idea of Matsukawa saving it for later—honestly, it makes him want to march right back into Accounting’s breakroom and unbutton even further.

“This is turning into a dangerous game,” Hanamaki murmurs to himself, tearing his eyes away from his phone and back towards his computer like a good employee. He adjusts himself in his chair, the undergarments he’s wearing leaving little room not to notice even the tiniest bit of growing arousal.

A few minutes later, just when he thinks he’s finally sinking back into work mode, Hanamaki’s phone buzzes with another notification. It’s a text from Matsukawa this time.

_Wanna meet for lunch?_

If Hanamaki didn’t know any better, he’d say Matsukawa is being genuine. But Hanamaki _does_ know better and he can read the other like an open book, no matter how many floors are between them.

For the camera, he puts on his best coy smile, sparkles adorning his cheeks through the filter. He types in the banner with a chuckle, fingers quick on the keyboard.

_Might be busy…_

It’s a cryptic enough answer not to be taken as a challenge right away, hell Hanamaki’s not even sure if he’s meaning it to be one. He’s up for a game of cat and mouse, but they are still at work after all. It’s all fun and games until someone pops a boner in a staff meeting.

Still, Hanamaki can’t help but feel a little bit giddy when Matsukawa screenshots that one too.

* * *

The thing about Hanamaki’s plan is this: it’s basically fool-proof. Their office building has a total of ten stories, not all belonging to their particular company, but each as easily accessible as the next. On each floor, there is at least one restroom, usually an ill-frequented supply closet or unoccupied office. Hell, even a desolate breakroom had proved useful if the lighting’s just right.

So Hanamaki has been riddled with hiding spots all day long, new backgrounds and furniture to pose against, and as soon as the snap is sent off he’s back to his desk or else onto the next photo opportunity. Oikawa’s probably right about stealing company time—but really, he’d finished up all his end-of-quarter reports the day before, was he just supposed to sit around all day with nothing productive to do?

No, he’d decided. And Hanamaki was nothing if not a _productive_ person.

He knows, logically, that Matsukawa probably hasn’t been chasing after him, gallivanting around their building in some perverted form of hide-and-seek. But still, there’s been a few messages from him leading Hanamaki to believe that he might be trying to guess and an hour ago Oikawa had informed him (so very _knowingly_ ) that Matsukawa had been asking after him sometime when he’d been exploring the nearly vacant top floor. 

Currently he’s holed up in the restroom down the hall from Human Recourses, ironically enough. He hasn’t yet sent his latest masterpiece (a nice, unapologetic view of the way a garter belt hugs his hips) but he’s locked himself in a stall while trying to think up just the right witty remark to scrawl across the accompanying banner.

That’s when the door to the bathroom opens and Hanamaki freezes, mid-smirk.

It’s not unlikely that someone else, possibly even someone that Hanamaki doesn’t know, is standing on the other side of that stall door. It’s absolutely possible, in fact it’s got to be way more probable than it being the one person Hanamaki doesn’t (read: _does_ ) want it to be.

He hesitates for a second, not entirely breathing, and then like some wildly impulsive leap of faith he hits the send button.

Three or four rapid heartbeats later and someone’s phone is chiming a notification and it sure as shit isn’t Hanamaki’s.

He swallows hard, thinking still it could all somehow be a big coincidence and what a laugh that would be later on. But he recognizes those brown wing-tips, the ones stopping right in front of his door, and _oh_ he had not exactly thought this possibility all the way through.

Okay, so maybe his plan is not so entirely fool-proof.

Matsukawa raps his knuckles three times against the door, lazy and slow. Hanamaki holds his breath; what are the odds he can just pretend he’s not here? What are the odds that Matsukawa is annoyed rather than amused by all this? He’s not responded to any of the recent snaps, but he has been screenshotting them all—hopefully not for the purposes of blackmail later on.

Hanamaki feels something bubble in his gut and he thinks it’s too irrational for it to be excitement. He breathes out, in, out, then licks his lips. “ _Occupied_ ,” he calls, sing-song, and he’s just thankful that his voice doesn’t crack.

“Open the door, Hiro,” Matsukawa answers and his voice is low and smooth. It’s almost unreadable, but Hanamaki doesn’t think he sounds angry. Maybe just— _done_.

Okay, it’s still early and they’re in a goddamn public restroom, but Hanamaki thinks he can work with that.

Slowly he unlatches the door, shiny black and freshly bleached probably, and pulls it open an inch or so to peek at Matsukawa’s raised brows.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Matsukawa’s expression is dry, but still not exactly irritated. “You wanted this so badly you’re willing to risk our jobs?”

Hanamaki can detect the ghost of movement at the edge of Matsukawa’s lips and it makes him crack his own smile. “Look, not that this scenario isn’t hot as hell right now, but it wasn’t exactly my initial intention,” he fibs.

“Oh no?”

“I wanted to rile you up.” Hanamaki swallows. “You know, so when we got home—”

“Yours or mine?”

“Mine, duh,” Hanamaki’s eyes roll high. “I’ve got the better bed, remember?”

Matsukawa clicks his tongue. “That’s debatable,” he says and then, “You’re really that desperate for it, hm?”

Almost choking on nothing, Hanamaki sputters. “I wouldn’t call it desperate—it’s the end of the quarter and—”

“Thought we could blow off some steam?” Matsukawa is quick to intercept him. “And your idea was to tease me all day long with snaps that if _anyone_ else saw, we’d be in deep shit?”

“Well, at the time it seemed like a good idea—” Hanamaki starts to avert his eyes, feeling something akin to embarrassment crawling up his neck, but then Matsukawa interrupts him, grin finally widening his full lips.

“It’s a great fucking idea,” he nods towards Hanamaki. “But I’m changing the endgame to _right_ _here, right_ _now_.”

Hanamaki feels his gaze widen, probably comically so. “In the bathroom?”

Matsukawa takes a step forward, wiggling his brows and oh, Hanamaki _can’t_ with that. “You’re the one who seems to have a bathroom kink or something.”

“Hey, I needed some place private with quality lighting,” he frowns, lips pouting out. “Don’t kink shame me.”

“Move over.”

“In here,” Hanamaki says, staring hard. “Really?”

“In here, _really_.” Matsukawa’s smirk is so slick now as he pushes a hand against Hanamaki’s chest to guide him backwards. “And just so you know, Hiro, you’re definitely not off the hook for leaving me half-hard at my desk all morning.”

Maneuvering himself to the side, because it is abundantly clear that Matsukawa is absolutely serious about this, Hanamaki can’t help his nervous laughter. “Issei, _you’re_ the one screenshotting everything. Even the dog filter.”

“That one’s cute,” Matsukawa explains and now as they’re pressed close together his voice rumbles down Hanamaki’s spine. He closes the door behind him, latching it. “I like the tongue.”

Hanamaki groans, reaching out reflexively to flick at Matsukawa’s ear but a large hand catches him first, holding his wrist steady. Matsukawa fits him with a pointed look, pupils glowing oddly under the florescent bathroom lights. “Don’t start acting scandalized _now_ , Hiro,” he murmurs.

Hanamaki swallows, but Matsukawa is right. It’s almost embarrassing, but he can feel a sort of warm arousal washing over him just from the way Matsukawa grips his wrist. So, instead of arguing further, Hanamaki takes an unsteady breath before turning to brace himself against the door, presenting his ass still snug in those tight-fitting slacks.

“The pictures were nice,” Matsukawa murmurs, nosing at Hanamaki’s neck, trailing eager lips against his pulse point. “But I can only imagine it’s better in person.”

Hanamaki presses back purposefully, squirming against Matsukawa’s hands on his hips. “Less talking, more stripping,” he commands.

Predictably enough, Matsukawa is happy to oblige. He trails his palms up, running against the flat of Hanamaki’s stomach, until they reach his loose collar, plucking at the buttons of his shirt with practiced ease.

Once Hanamaki’s shirt hangs open, Matsukawa shifts to hook his chin over a shoulder and hum in appreciation. “Pretty,” he practically purrs.

Matsukawa thumbs at the lacy blue fabric of the bralette Hanamaki’s wearing, tracing the edge that meets against his ribcage until he’s basically palming Hanamaki’s chest. Another hand mirrors the action until Matsukawa rubs and squeezes enough that Hanamaki can feel his nipples protruding against the tight fabric.

“I take it you like it?” he breathes out, trying so hard to sound cocky and most definitely failing.

Matsukawa’s lips are at his neck, words warm against his ear. “I do,” he says lowly. “But I think _you_ like it more.”

He’s not wrong, they both know that. Hanamaki has quite the collection of little lacey things back at his place, but this set deviates from his usual, more basic stuff; he’d been saving it for just the right occasion (and now that occasion was going to come to fruition in a bathroom down the hall from HR, but at this point who gives a fuck?).

“Wait till—“ Hanamaki has to swallow, lick at his teeth to get the words out. “Wait till you see the rest.”

Matsukawa doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t _wait_ at all, smoothing his large palms down Hanamaki’s sides until they come to rest at the garter belt that sits right above his hipbones, the aqua fabric clinging just below his waist and giving his natural silhouette an even better illusion. It’s peeking up out of his slacks, which Matsukawa makes quick work of unbuttoning before tugging them down hastily.

When the soft teal panties are revealed, Matsukawa finally seems to pause. Hanamaki can guess as to why, his ass looks spectacular in them, sexy and plump and there’s a literal cutout in the back, perfectly aligned for easy access.

Matsukawa plucks at a satin strap that’s clipped to a pair of stockings still yet unseen. “Goddamn,” he murmurs and Hanamaki can’t stop the snort that gracelessly leaves his mouth.

“Cute, right?” he smirks, turning to give Matsukawa a quirked brow over his shoulder.

Matsukawa looks him dead in the eyes, stone faced but blushing pink all-the-same. “Please tell me you have a condom? And lube?”

Hanamaki shakes his ass, unnecessarily, which seems to only make Matsukawa’s neck flush harder. He stretches to reach into the pocket of his slacks and shoves the requested items in Matsukawa’s face.

Okay so maybe, subconsciously, he had been hoping for this scenario the entire time.

“Do you always carry lube in your work pants?” Matsukawa plucks the little bottle and foil square from Hanamaki’s pinched fingers, examining them closely.

“Always,” Hanamaki grins. “You never know when you’re gonna need it.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Matsukawa groans back. “And you say this _wasn’t_ your initial intention?”

“So, I’m a multi-scenario planner. Sue me.”

“I’d rather fuck you.”

“That works too, I guess.”

“You guess?” Matsukawa whispers in his ear, rubbing his still clothed erection against Hanamaki’s ass with purpose.

Hanamaki tries to keep up the banter with his usual wicked tongue, but with the sensation of Matsukawa’s body caging him in, all he can do is groan. “Y-yeah.”

He scrabbles for some purchase against the door, but it’s difficult, especially with the way Matsukawa’s slipping a hand forward to run against the damp lace his cock is currently straining against. He runs a thumb against the waistband, pulling but not quite enough to do anything more than tease.

“I think maybe you had some ulterior motives, Hiro,” Matsukawa says, tone conversational, like what they’re doing is anything ordinary. A cap pops open and Hanamaki shivers, ass and stomach now fully exposed.

Hanamaki rolls his hips, grinding hesitantly against nothing as Matsukawa pulls his hand away too soon. “All for you,” he replies and the words basically fall off his lips. He’s in control still, but his mind is starting to haze at the edges just a little bit.

He’s not lying, it had all been for Matsukawa at first, but now things were starting to feel a little bit different. Especially when Matsukawa grabs his ass suddenly, palming a cheek in his large hand and spreading.

A gasp of air leaves Hanamaki’s lungs at the rough touch, his body bending forward on instinct, spine arching deeper to offer easier access. It should be embarrassing, but when Matsukawa groans in approval at the sight, all Hanamaki can do is smirk, pleased.

“Shit, Hiro,” Matsukawa mutters. “You’re unbelievable.”

Hanamaki shifts, his slacks falling further down his thighs to reveal the lacey tops of his stockings and the way they cling to his muscular legs. “Better believe it,” he breathes out, chuckling at his own poor wit before he chokes on the sound as Matsukawa runs a slick thumb over his entrance.

“Sorry,” Matsukawa offers, not sounding very apologetic at all. But even though the lube is a little cold and Matsukawa a little bit too unremorseful, Hanamaki can’t help but lean into the touch, offering himself up and trying his best to relax in their tight, slightly awkward positioning.

“Y’know, if we had any self-control,” Hanamaki says through his teeth as Matsukawa applies some pressure with the pad of his thumb. “We could be doing this in a nice, comfy bed.”

“You really want to stop now?” Matsukawa asks and even without looking, Hanamaki can picture the shit-eating grin he’s most definitely sporting.

His thumb dips forward and the stretch has Hanamaki automatically tensing before he remembers to breathe properly. “N-no,” he hisses out. “You better not stop now. Fuck self-control.”

“Good,” Matsukawa laughs, the sound practically vibrating through Hanamaki. “Because I’d really hate for all this lace and all those selfies to go to waste.”

The fabric of the garter belt still snug around his waist feels cool against Hanamaki’s rapidly burning skin. Matsukawa takes his time, pushing in and out, swirling lube and toying with Hanamaki’s rim. They often tease like this, whether receiving or giving, it’s in the DNA of their relationship. But, as Matsukawa pushes forward again, this time up to the first knuckle of his middle finger, Hanamaki thinks enough is enough.

His hips sway, mostly out of arousal but partially annoyance. His head feels a bit dizzy and the teasing touches are bordering on infuriating when Matsukawa finally relents, pushing all the way in and stealing a satisfied gasp from Hanamaki’s chest.

If he weren’t so preoccupied, Hanamaki might offer a sarcastic remark, but as things are now he can barely keep himself from outright whining from all the slow, burning stimulation.

When a second finger finally follows the first he can start to feel himself relaxing more and more. Matsukawa helps hold him steady, an arm moving to circle his stomach, while he continues taking his time to open him thoroughly.

Hanamaki’s forehead dips, bumping against the door in front of him, but he can’t be bothered to care at all. Matsukawa tightens his hold just a bit, a silent warning before a third finger starts to play at his rim.

From his throat, Hanamaki can’t hold back a hiss that morphs halfway into a high moan of pleasure. The sound should be humiliating, but when Matsukawa rewards him by finally pushing in that next teasing digit, Hanamaki actually shouts as his body pushes backwards, unbidden.

“I swear—” Hanamaki grunts out; he’s balanced precariously between the burn and pleasure of the stretch and his voice is wavering. “What if somebody walks in?”

Matsukawa’s heady groans and Hanamaki’s rushed gasps are steadily beginning to echo off the bathroom tile.

“Isn’t it a little too late to be worrying about that?”

“It’s never too late. It’s rational— _holy shit_.” Hanamaki’s own spiraling thoughts are abruptly cut off when Matsukawa rubs insistently over his prostate.

“What’s that?” Matsukawa nibbles at the juncture between his neck and shoulder, no doubt hiding a smirk there.

“Issei,” Hanamaki spits, thrusting back against those probing fingers in retaliation. “Are you just going to tease—or are you actually planning on fucking me?”

Matsukawa sucks in a breath that sounds too-loud in Hanamaki’s oversensitive brain. Foil crinkles and Matsukawa pulls out of him, slick and wet. Craning his neck back, Hanamaki watches from his peripheral the way sharp teeth tear into the gold packaging and he actually shivers.

There’s an undoubtable hiss when Matsukawa starts to roll the condom over his length, watching through dark, thick lashes the way Hanamaki’s still staring. “Suddenly seems like you don’t care if someone walks in.”

“What are the odds—” Hanamaki frowns, trying to work through his own distraction, when the bathroom door opens before all the words can even transfer from brain to tongue. “ _Shit_.”

Behind him, Matsukawa shakes with silent amusement, moving in to brush lips against the lace on Hanamaki’s bared shoulder. “Quiet,” he whispers indulgently over Hanamaki’s skin and if Hanamaki weren’t literally holding his breath he’d be snapping his teeth at Matsukawa’s ability to find humor in a situation such as this.

But then, suddenly and without warning, Matsukawa is pressing his slick cock forward and Hanamaki can’t hold the stale air in his lungs any longer. It escapes in a long exhale through a painfully clenched jaw, Hanamaki unable to hold in a tiny, unraveling whine as Matsukawa cants his hips forward, pressing slowly inside.

Hanamaki’s not sure he can hold back a moan, fingernails scratching against the door in front of him as Matsukawa enters him, inch by inch. Just as he’s nearly bottomed out, a broad hand snakes up Hanamaki’s throat and jaw to press against his lips, effectively holding back any sound other than a very muffled gasp.

They stay like that, connected with Hanamaki crowded up against the door and Matsukawa breathing fast and warm against his neck. After several more seconds shared between them, the sound of a faucet starts, stops, and then just as quick as they’d been interrupted, the bathroom door is closing leaving them in silence together once again.

Even though Matsukawa’s hand isn’t obstructing his airways, Hanamaki sort of feels like he can’t breathe. It takes a few seconds more, but then Matsukawa pulls out just a little, releasing his grip on Hanamaki’s jaw and leaving his cheeks warm from the touch.

“Alright?” Matsukawa murmurs and considering he’d been amused by their circumstances just a couple of short minutes ago, his tone is quite seriousness now.

Hanamaki finds his head nodding forward almost at its own accord. “Yeah, just—” he swallows. “Need you to fucking _move_ already.”

Obediently, Matsukawa complies with his request. Hips pull back and slam forward before Hanamaki can properly ready himself, his entire frame nearly smacking into the surface in front of him if it weren’t for the incredibly powerful way Matsukawa’s latched onto his hips, digging thumbs into the fleshy part of his ass. The lace there is sure to leave an amalgam of patterns on his pale skin later.

Matsukawa thrusts up, searching for the angle he knows Hanamaki likes best, all the while playing lips and teeth along the length of Hanamaki’s exposed skin, licking at the straps of his lingerie. The bathroom fills with the sound of flesh on flesh, a white-noise that fills Hanamaki’s mind almost to the point that when his eyes clench shut he can see Matsukawa thrusting into him.

Hanamaki can’t help it, his hand flinches down to his own aching cock, searching for friction but Matsukawa is faster, latching onto his arm and pulling up. Suddenly both of Hanamaki’s palms are pushed against the door, held firmly by Matsukawa’s iron grip. _It’s unfair, totally ridiculously unfair—_

“What’s _unfair_ , Hiro,” Matsukawa pants into his shoulder and Hanamaki realizes then that he’d been speaking the rambling, disoriented complaints aloud. “Is wearing lingerie to work—” he pushes forward slowly, forcing himself especially deep with his next words. “—and expecting me not to want to fuck you blind in the bathroom.”

Hanamaki understands, objectively, that he deserves this.

But also, he really fucking wants to come.

“Issei,” he pants out and to his own ears his voice sounds so wrecked already. He times it, as much as his foggy brain will allow, and when Matsukawa pulls out Hanamaki slams his hips backwards, fucking himself and stealing a surprised breath in return. “ _Move faster_ ,” he demands, grinding his hips unapologetically.

As it turns out, while Matsukawa is very good at indulging Hanamaki, he’s even better at ignoring his requests entirely.

Instead of slamming into him like before, Matsukawa does the exact opposite, caging Hanamaki in even more than he thought possible. He’s deep and Hanamaki can feel the way Matsukawa’s thighs tremble against his own, can feel the way his abs contract beneath his shirt with every steady breath he takes.

As if by a need for self-preservation Hanamaki has the sudden urge to smirk or sass Matsukawa, lay his head back against his shoulder and peck annoying kisses against his cheek, but he can’t find the breath or strength to do any of those things.

When Matsukawa finally rolls his hips forward, Hanamaki can feel it smooth and burning right against his prostate. He sits on the precipice of orgasm, the sensation heavy in his gut, veins pulsing. He just needs a little bit more—

“ _Please_.” The word is pulled, rushed and breathless, from his tongue. In answer Matsukawa grinds forward, rolling his hips in a circular motion that forces Hanamaki’s muscles to spasm.

He can feel his fingers shaking against the door, curling against the surface. Those delicate panties feel tighter than ever before, pressing against sensitive skin but maybe— _maybe_ that’s all it’s going to take.

His lungs hiss out a sound, something foreign to his ears but it melds with a moan from behind, one Matsukawa can’t quite stifle into the nape of his neck. Hanamaki’s skin crawls where Matsukawa finally releases his wrists, one hand moving down and the other reaching up to trail lightly over his chest, up further until a warm palm is resting against his adam’s apple, fingers splaying against his throat.

“Close?” Matsukawa murmurs the loaded question, sounding half-incoherent and maybe he is because the answer is most definitely an obvious one.

Hanamaki bucks when Matsukawa’s fingers dip past the hem of the panties, swirling a thumb through pooling pre-cum. His slow grinding morphs into slow thrusts and he times his hand to match, slowly pumping and rutting and Hanamaki’s vision has gone completely fuzzy around the edges.

“Ahh,” he gasps when Matsukawa’s hand at his throat tightens, pulling his head backwards. At first, he’s disoriented but then there are lips at his jaw, trailing up to his own mouth and then finally Matsukawa is kissing him properly.

Hanamaki has to angle his head to deepen the kiss, tongue darting forward to dip into Matsukawa’s mouth. With the new rhythm Matsukawa has set, it’s not going to take much longer. Hanamaki’s entire lower-body rocks with every thrust, every bite against his lips. He can feel himself start to rock up onto his toes, clutching wildly at the door just to hold himself steady.

Matsukawa comes first and the feeling of him shivering inside of Hanamaki is a particularly validating one, for some reason. He shudders when Matsukawa squeezes his cock a bit harder and his release paints the man’s knuckles white and slick. They both narrowly avoid sullying their work clothes, and as positive as that is, Hanamaki knows that this particular set of lingerie is definitely going to need a soak later tonight.

Warm breath puffs out against Hanamaki’s mouth and he peels open his eyes to meet Matsukawa’s half-lidded gaze, not entirely sure when he closed them in the first place.

“Fuck,” he hisses, but it comes out louder than he’d been expecting, echoing around the tiny stall.

Matsukawa, for what it’s worth, tries his best to hold back a snort. He buries his amusement in the crook of Hanamaki’s neck. They stay like that for a moment, each shared breath synced up like clockwork between them.

“Happy end of the quarter,” Matsukawa whispers, hand moving automatically to tuck Hanamaki back into his too-small underwear.

The contact is too much though and Hanamaki flinches backward, ticklish and beyond sensitive, which causes Matsukawa himself to groan.

"Sorry,” Hanamaki chuckles, reminding his body to relax as Matsukawa gently pulls out.

It leaves Hanamaki feeling a bit empty, but Matsukawa fixes that by tugging gently at his shoulder until Hanamaki turns into a warm, satisfying embrace. “Not that you don’t always, but you look especially pretty in this,” Matsukawa mumbles where he’s pressed his lips against Hanamaki’s cheekbone. “The color suits you.”

The words leave Hanamaki more red and flushed than when they were fucking just moments before. “Thanks,” he says, feeling a bit shy. “Maybe next time you can help pick.”

“If we don’t get back to our desks, I’m not sure there’s going to be a next time.”

“I didn’t mean at work—” Hanamaki tries to act scandalized, but it’s hard with his shirt and pants still undone and his face pressed into Matsukawa’s neck. “Issei, I think it’s _you_ who has a bathroom kink now.”

Matsukawa seems to mull this over for a second before answering. “I think I just have a Takahiro kink.”

Hanamaki can’t hold back a really unbecoming snort of laughter at that one. “That’s so, so terrible.”

“What’s terrible is the amount of photo storage I’ve used today on all of your snaps.”

“No one said you had to screenshot _everything_.”

Matsukawa shifts, catching Hanamaki’s gaze and lifting a hand to play at a line of lace clinging over his ribcage. “I can’t let works of art like those die somewhere in the deep, dark depths of your cellphone data.”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes, affectionate. “You’re insufferable.”

“I think you mean insatiable,” Matsukawa throws back, quirking a brow and plastering on a smoldering smile.

Averting his eyes, Hanamaki smirks. He can’t take him seriously at all, but that’s exactly why he’s so endeared to this man. “Can’t you wait till we get home later?”

“How about you meet me in the fifth-floor storage closet later?” Matsukawa rumbles, and suddenly his tone has changed to something considerably less teasing.

“Or, let’s see if you can find me again.” Hanamaki tilts his head back and grins, all teeth. “Still got a few hours till we clock out.”

“Challenge accepted.”

**Author's Note:**

> Interested? Find me on:  
> [tumblr](https://h-lovely.tumblr.com/)  
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> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hlovelyyy)  
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